Drowning in Sorrow
by Lady Chal
Summary: When tragedy separates Ezra and Inez, she takes the opportunity to give a drunken Chris Larabee a piece of her mind.


**_Disclaimer: Don't own them and not making a plug nickel off them either, so please don't sue!_**

**Rating: R (Probably more like PG-13 into today's world, but I prefer to err on the side of caution).**

**Classification: OW, Ezra/Inez, Chris/Inez**

**Spoilers: None**

**Author's Note:_ I am terrible about sticking to chronological order! I'm notorious for reading the end of a book first and then jumping back to the beginning. –Seems that I write that way too! I began with the ending in _****"The Day of the Dead," snippets of which led me into a couple of novel length tales I'm STILL trying to finish and now this itty bitty little vignette that falls somewhere in between. I don't know why, but one night I got the bug to write something about Chris and Inez. They never interacted very much on the show, and I got to wondering what would happen if they did. I have a feeling she could certainly give him what-for.__**

**Summary: When tragedy separates Ezra and Inez, she takes the opportunity to give a drunken Chris Larabee a piece of her mind.**

**Drowning in Sorrow**

**By Lady Chal**

            The faithful Regulator clock emitted a soft growl as its gears rolled inexorably forward. A soft click brought the long tapered needle of the hour hand to rest upon the number two. From somewhere deep inside a low rumble was heard as the striker was slowly pulled back and released, filling the room with the resonant, melancholy tolling of the morning hour. 

            It was a sign of the recent events that the weary Mexican woman did not need to utter a word. Before the clock behind the bar had even finished chiming, the customers were already on their feet and filing quietly out into the darkness of the street. It was closing time, and none of them were of a mind to cause her any more grief. They knew she had already suffered more than her share.

            Inez finished drying the glass she had just washed and set it carefully on the ornate mahogany back bar. Glancing into the mirror, she caught the reflection of the empty tables behind her. She closed her eyes feeling the weight of the vacant room press in on her. It had never seemed lonely to her before, but until these past few weeks she had never really been alone. She bit her lip and willed herself not to look towards the table devoid of cards and chips and assorted poker winnings. _Madre de Dios__, how she missed him!_

            Her thumb moved, almost of its own accord, to brush against the slim gold wedding band she now wore for all to see. The metal was as soft and warm as his touch had been, and she could almost imagine his fingers, warm and strong yet oddly gentle as he slipped the ring onto her hand. Her heart twisted a little at the thought. He had never actually done that. He hadn't had the chance. 

When they had married, there had been no money for a wedding band, nor had they really felt the need for it. Every dime they had been able to gather between them had been sunk into buying back the saloon. Their marriage had been little more than a formality, a business agreement, a contract to seal their partnership. Half the money to buy the business had come from her wages and what she had managed to save. The other half had come from the enormous amount of faith she had placed in him to take her money to the gambling tables of St. Louis and parlay it into the sizeable fortune required to purchase the place back from Maude. To their great surprise, they had been successful, and they had come through the adventure as the co-owners of the Standish Tavern.

It was only after they had visited Judge Travis to draw up the paperwork and formalize their business partnership that he had pointed out the fatal flaw in their plan. The territorial government was still somewhat haphazard, and many of the laws regarding property ownership had simply been carried over from the old Mexican colonial laws. In short, the law made no legal provisions for the rights of women to own property. If Ezra were to meet some unfortunate fate –no matter what intentions his will might state—his property would automatically revert to his nearest living relative, his mother. The only way to insure that Inez would inherit what was rightfully hers, the Judge had told them, was for them to marry.

So they had married. She had been surprised that he was willing to ask her. --Almost as surprised as he had been when he discovered she was willing to accept. It had been a tentative agreement, each almost daring the other to take the next step until they had suddenly found themselves standing before Judge Travis with no more steps to take. Neither one was willing to allow the other to see how terrified they were of the idea. It was no wonder Judge Travis had eyed both her and Ezra sternly as they had repeated their vows. It had been clear he had not approved, but he had been true to his word and maintained his discretion in the matter. They had told no one else of their arrangement. Neither of them had seen the need. They had married for business, after all. Not for love.

Love had come later, in scattered bits and pieces. In fact, when she carefully considered the matter, she often wondered if some of its seeds had been sown even before they had entered into their unusual partnership. Even before they had gone to St. Louis in their last ditch effort to reclaim the saloon, she and Ezra had come to depend on each other a great deal. If she were but to admit it to herself, she had known that her fate depended upon him from the moment she had first slipped through those swinging doors to beg the drunken and dejected owner of the Standish Tavern for a job. 

When he and Nathan had been ambushed by Leon McAllister's mob and he had been beaten, she had nursed him back to health. When she had been attacked by two drunken soldiers from an encampment outside of town, it had been Ezra who had come to her rescue and demanded satisfaction of the man who had set them upon her. She had defended him against Nathan's frequent criticisms. He had deflected Buck's incessant advances. Together they had made a good team, and into their easygoing partnership, love had somehow crept without either of them realizing it. Once they had, they had been inseparable.

--Until now. Three weeks, she thought, twisting the ring upon her finger. It had been three miserable, heart-wrenching weeks since that awful night. She had known even as she had pulled him back for that last swift, powerful kiss that she could not deter him from what he was setting out to do. –Nor would she. It was his mother, after all. Even if Maude really had killed that wretched banker, he still would have felt obligated to break her out of jail.

She had been expecting the blast, but not the power of it. The explosion had rocked the glassware on the back of the bar and sent her scurrying out to the street in little more than her dressing gown and bare feet. If she closed her eyes, she could still see his silhouette outlined against the burning wreckage of the jail as he had stood there, locked in mortal combat with Marshall Bell. Maude had had been struggling violently with the deputy, and she only vaguely remembered laying hands on the chunk of firewood from the rack beside Potter's store. Inez did not recall swinging it at all –though she knew that she must have—for Maude had vanished, the deputy had ended up senseless beside his horse and the wood had still been clenched tightly in her hand. But she did not remember it. The only thing she could recall clearly was the gunshot, the two bodies falling, and the fear that had clutched her heart when she had seen that it was Bell –not Ezra—who had ended up with the pistol.

Thank God for the derringer. It had saved his life there on that dusty street, even as it had ended all hope for the one that they were building together. He had shot and killed a U.S. Marshall –an evil man, it was true—but a lawman none the less. He might be alive, but that life was forfeit if he was captured. There had been no time for goodbyes. She had seen the firelight streaking off the flanks of the chestnut horse as it had galloped out of town, had felt the rumble of hooves as Marshall Bell's men had mounted up and ridden after him. Then she had simply sunk to her knees in the dusty street and prayed. For what, exactly, she wasn't sure, except perhaps his escape and his safety. There was no sense in praying for anything else. The life and the happiness they had shared were gone now. There was no way they could ever get it back.

It had been Mary Travis who had picked her up out of the street and taken her to the cozy apartments above the Clarion. The gentle blonde widow had wrapped her in a blanket, set a pot of tea to brew and then answered her door to a pale, frightened looking Casey Dunne. JD's young bride had moved warily, looking first into the room and then back over her shoulder. Only then had she ushered in an uncharacteristically haggard and shaken Maude Standish. The newspaperwoman had rallied them in those dark hours, and by the time the morning sun had risen over the horizon, and Bell's posse had returned, weary and empty-handed, Maude was well away and her trail as cold as the four women could make it. 

She thought she had put on an admirable front, going about her business that endless day that followed. She had swept off the boardwalk, opened the saloon and greeted the few customers who entered as if nothing had happened. She had worked very hard to pretend that nothing had. As long as she told herself they were just away on another errand, as long as she didn't glance down the street towards the charred ruins of the jail, she could almost believe it. But then they had come to her, and the illusion had collapsed.

She had watched them as they had ridden down the street, their faces grim and their horses heads low. Larabee had split off at the telegraph office, presumably to wire the Judge. JD had paused in front of the hotel and called to Casey who had been waiting on the bench out front. Nathan and Josiah had tipped their hats as they proceeded past her to put up their exhausted mounts at the Livery. She had let her gaze follow the healer and the preacher until they rode into the corral and disappeared from sight. Only then did she force herself to look at Vin and Buck, who had dismounted from their horses and stood before her, hats in hand.

"Is he…" she swallowed hard, her hands tightening visibly around the broom in her hand, "Is he dead?"

"No!" Buck said quickly, placing a reassuring hand under her elbow. "No, he got away clean." The big man smiled wryly. "Shoot, he's probably half way to Purgatory by now."

Vin nodded. "Don't worry, he had a good head start, and we confused the trail some. Bell's men aren't familiar with the country. They aren't likely to find him."

Buck drew a deep breath, twisting the brim of his hat nervously between his fingers. "Truth is he wanted us to give you something. We gave our word we'd get it to you."

"You saw him?" she gasped, desperate for word of him.

Vin nodded. "Just for a minute …there wasn't much time." 

No, she thought. There was never enough time for things like this.

Vin stepped back to his saddlebags and pulled out a cream colored packet of folded papers. Inez took them from the tracker's fingers. They crackled as she touched them and she recognized the feel of real parchment. Unfolding the first document, she made out the fine script of Ezra's signature. It was the deed to the saloon. The second was smaller and neatly printed; the appropriate blanks filled out in Judge Travis's heavier, businesslike scrawl, save for where both she and Ezra had signed it …their marriage certificate.

She looked quickly from one man to the other. Neither one of them had looked at the papers, of that she felt certain. It was not their way. Still, she could tell that they knew. It was in the way they stood before her, heads bowed and regret written on their faces. She didn't think Ezra had told them, either –at least not in so many words. They were being bashful about it, as if they realized they were acknowledging a secret that they weren't supposed to know.

It was Buck who finally broke the silence, reaching into his jacket for a small, soft fold of linen. "He, uh …he wanted me to give you this."

Inez recognized the starched white linen of the fine monogrammed handkerchiefs Ezra always carried. Buck took her hand, pressing the wad into her palm and closing her fingers tightly around it. She could feel something small and hard at its center. A painful constriction gripped her throat as she realized what it must be.

Her fingers shook as she gently peeled back the soft white folds to reveal the plain gold wedding band. 

"_It should be a simple ring," he had told her, pressing her small hand against his palm, measuring the length of her slim fingers against his own._

_She stretched languidly against him, enjoying the simple pleasure of sharing this quiet morning time in the bed she had only just begun to think of as theirs._

_"A simple ring for a simple woman, no?" she flashed him a mischievous smile, daring him to agree with her._

_He looked at her sharply for a moment, his jade colored eyes reflecting surprise at his own momentary loss for words. He chuckled then, his tongue darting out to touch his lower lip as he carefully formulated his response._

_"You are anything but simple, my dear," he said, rolling towards her. Propping himself up on one elbow, he studied her more intently. His free hand snaked out and tangled in her ebony locks, brushing the hair back from her face, cupping her cheek and caressing its way down the slender column of her neck to her shoulders. He shot her his own rakish grin, "Perhaps 'simple' isn't the right word after all. I'll tell the goldsmith that the ring should be straightforward –like the woman that wears it."_

_"And how do you know she'll wear it?" she asked him, saucily._

_He brushed a kiss across her lips. "Considering the fact that the lady in question is already my wife, I believe I've breached the greatest difficulty," he drawled. _

_The wandering hand strayed lower, and his green eyes darkened. "However, with a little incentive, I am quite confident that I can persuade her." _

_He had spent the next half hour doing just that._

The tears felt dangerously close she slipped the ring onto her finger. It had fit perfectly. She had known that it would, he was nothing, if not a master of detail.

Vin shifted uneasily on his feet and Buck cleared his throat, calling her attention back to her own personal harbingers of bad news. "Before he left, I …I asked him if there was anything he wanted me to tell you."

"And?" she prompted quietly, her heart hanging in the balance.

"He, uh, he wanted me to say –that is, he wanted me to tell you he said—"

_"Te amo." Vin finished quietly, his blue eyes leveling on hers._

"Yeah," Buck said, his voice was a bit too gruff. _"Te amo."_

_Te amo …I love you. _

She felt the hot trail of the tear as it escaped and slid down her cheek. She had nodded blindly at each of them and then turned away, mustering all of her will to keep her shoulders from shaking and her step steady as she walked back into the saloon. Once inside the haven of its dim interior, she had fled to the safety of her kitchen. There she had dried her eyes, summoned her composure and tossed herself back out into the bustling taproom to lose herself in serving another round of drinks. It had been the only thing that had kept her sane.

The clock chimed the quarter hour, pulling her from her memories and she found herself gazing vacantly at her reflection in the dusty, fly-specked mirror of the back bar. It needed washing, but she had not been able to summon the energy to do it. _Mañana, she thought distantly. Tomorrow was Sunday, the bar would be closed and she would have nothing to do but sit here in these empty rooms and go quietly out of her mind. _

_"Have you never heard of mañana, Inez?" She could still hear the cultured drawl, annoyed and impatient as he'd prodded her to go to bed._

Yes, she had heard of mañana. He had taught her all about it. There was always tomorrow for the unimportant things. For the things that really mattered, however, there were not tomorrows enough.

A chair squeaked from somewhere across the room and she started violently, realizing she was not alone after all. 

"Another bottle over here," the voice, slightly slurred with alcohol, seemed to violate the silence of the room. Inez moved cautiously from behind the bar, trepidation –and more than a little irritation—pushed her grief aside as she moved to confront the speaker.

"We are closed, Señor Larabee."

He flashed an unrepentant grin. There was little warmth in it, she noted uneasily. "How 'bout one for the road?"

On any other night, she might have obliged him. She had never been comfortable around Chris Larabee; he was not a comfortable man. He was also a nasty drunk. Not that she'd had much opportunity to see it up close and personal. If he felt the black mood creeping over him, he usually rode off to Purgatory and stayed there. Eventually Buck would decide he'd had enough and ride out to drag back what was left. Sometimes, though, it struck without warning and the entire town might be treated to one of Larabee's infamous bouts of intoxication. Even then, he usually avoided her place, and took himself up the street to patronize Digger Dave's Saloon. She suspected it was more a mild antipathy for Dave rather than any real respect for her that led to his switch in drinking establishments. --Or most likely it was just the fact that even the coyote did not like to soil its own lair.

For whatever reason, the usual circumstances had failed her. The black mood had taken the gunslinger unexpectedly and Vin and Buck –the two best equipped to deal with him in this state—had completely missed the signs and departed for the night.  This left her with the unpleasant prospect of dealing with Chris Larabee on a malevolent drunk all by herself. She probably could just fetch another bottle, cajole him into taking it outside and then bar the doors safely behind him. She knew that that was what she should do; but as she stood there, bone tired and heart aching, she felt the little red devils of anger poking at her temper, and knew that she was not going to do it.

"I think you've had enough." 

His green eyes hardened, becoming as cold and dark as an evergreen forest in winter. He laughed mirthlessly. It was a cold hollow sound that sent a chill of fear racing down her spine. "No, Inez, it's not nearly enough." He thumped the table loudly with the bottom of his glass. "--Another bottle!"

Perversely, she stood her ground. The anger was humming through her body now, and it felt good. It felt _alive. She wanted to be angry –at him, at Ezra, at the world—but until now, she had been too mired in her own grief to recognize it._

"I don't think so," she murmured, daring to draw nearer. "It would only be a waste, no? You only drink it to drown your sorrows, but instead you drown in them."

"What did you say?" 

His voice was cold and dangerous, but she caught the flash of disbelief in his unfocused eyes and wondered how long it had been since anyone had stood up to him. A long time, she decided. Even Buck tended to step lightly around him in this state. He had good reason. Buck had once said that when Larabee got that mean, crazed look in his eye, you could never be sure whether he was going to laugh at you or shoot you. Most men didn't want to bet wrong, and so they backed away. Somehow, the thought didn't frighten her as it should have. It only made her angrier, and she decided that she didn't give a damn which response he chose.

"You heard me, Señor," she said quietly, stepping up to the table. She eyed him thoughtfully. He reminded her of a wounded, cornered wolf, radiating pain, but still very dangerous. The devils danced in the flames of her anger, urging her to bait the wolf.

"I wonder …what was it that brought you down this path tonight? …An anniversary? …Her birthday? …His?"

"Bitch!" he snarled, flinging away his glass. It shattered against the wall as he lunged across the table towards her. She jumped back, involuntarily. His hands reached for the rough oak edges of the table top, gripping it tightly. It was probably the only thing that kept him from strangling her. 

His eyes were wild, his face white with fury as he ground out the words_. "Don't you dare speak of them, damn you!"_

His rage released hers and she lashed back, sweeping the empty bottles and glasses from the table with a stroke of her hand. The glassware collided and shattered, falling to the floor in a shower of broken shards. Her brown eyes blazed as she laid her hands flat on the table, shoving her face within inches of his furious countenance.

"No, Señor! Damn _you! –How dare you," she spat, matching his enraged gaze with her own, "How __dare you presume that you are the only one who has ever suffered loss! How dare you come in here and act as if you are the only one who has ever seen everything they loved destroyed!"_

She tilted her head slightly, her brown eyes narrowing as she homed in on his weakness. "How old was your son? …Six? …Seven?" She snorted. "_Desagradecido! You can only see what you have lost! You can't even be grateful that God allowed you to have it in the first place!"_

"You know nothing about it," he hissed, his knuckles whitening as he clenched the edge of the table. 

"I know you had years," she whispered, "…_years in which to love your wife. I had months! –You had years together to watch your child grow …to hold him, to love him. I have nothing!" The tears were flowing feely down her face now, but her voice remained strong as she continued. "My husband is a walking dead man. He will never know his child."_

 "Your wife and your son were taken from you unfairly. Their lives were too short and for that I am sorry, Señor." She straightened and glared at him contemptuously. "But don't you _dare presume to walk in here again and feel sorry for yourself! What you have lost is more than __I will ever have."_

"Now," she said quietly, drawing a steadying breath, "get out of my saloon."

His cold, gray-green eyes were only inches from her own, and she could see the anger raging there, like some half-crazed animal howling to get out. Then, like a candle flame against the wind, it flared and guttered …and died.  They each expelled a long, slow breath that neither had been aware of holding, and stepped back from the table.

She turned her back to him with a sharp, deliberate movement and knelt down on the floor to gather together the shards of glass. Her hands were shaking and her fingers faltered as she picked up the largest pieces. A sharp edge sliced across her palm and she dropped it quickly, gasping at the pain. Biting back a sob, she balled her knuckles tightly into the wound and felt the hot sticky blood as it seeped through her fingers to drip on the floor.

Suddenly, it was all too much. The tears welled up in her eyes and a strangled cry escaped her lips. She gradually became aware of a soft, shuddering sound that grew into the low keening of a wounded animal, and was mortified to discover that it was coming from her own throat. The sound grew louder and more broken as she rocked herself back and forth, her shoulders shaking with the force of her grief.

The hand that slowly reached out to touch her hair was awkward and clumsy, but the weight of it was reassuring as his fingers came to rest on her ebony locks. Then he was beside her, his body collapsing suddenly around her own as his hands went to her shoulders and pulled her tightly against his chest. She sobbed wildly then, her fists pummeling at his arms and shoulders. It only caused him to hold her closer, his body absorbing the blows and his chin pressing tightly to the top of her head.

She was raging at him now in a barely comprehensible mixture of English and Spanish, but enough of it filtered through his alcohol soaked brain to for him to understand that she was calling him Ezra and cursing him for leaving her. He didn't care. He accepted her anger. He welcomed it. Somewhere along the line, she had already become Sarah and he gladly let her exhaust her fury upon him, knowing that he deserved it. He continued to rock her gently, crooning softly to her and whispering his apologies …for leaving …for not being there …for not saving her. For just this moment, he would be Ezra, and she would be Sarah and they would somehow save each other.

She wasn't exactly sure when she had stopped striking at him. She only knew that her hands felt leaden and her anger was spent. She let her head rest wearily against his shoulder. Gradually, she began to realize that the sobs still jarring her body did not belong to her. She felt the warm drops of his tears seeping into her hair, and pressed her head close to his, knowing the contact would ease them both.

After a moment, the shaking sobs stopped and he tilted his head down, burying his nose in the softness of her hair. He drew a long, shuddering breath. She smelled of beer and tobacco smoke and it cleared his head a bit. 

"I'm sorry, Inez," he said quietly, his voice was muffled in the crown of her hair.

She smiled faintly, but could not look at him. "I'm sorry, too," she whispered.

They sat there, amidst the broken glass and empty tables just holding each other for a long, long time. 

Neither one noticed the two men standing in the shadows just beyond the threshold. They had been on their way back to the saloon when the first tinkle of breaking glass had reached their ears and sent them rushing down the street. They had arrived just in time to witness the rest of the scene with mingled horror and fascination as it had unfolded before them. Buck could feel Vin's questioning, sideways glance upon him and shook his head.

The two men turned and left, taking great care as they stepped off the boardwalk and out into the street to move softly so as not to be heard. Buck waited until they were well out of earshot and halfway down the street before coming to a stop.

"Jesus!" he muttered, yanking off his hat and running a nervous hand through his hair.  He paused and shot Vin a meaningful glance. "We never saw that," he said firmly.

"No," Vin agreed, his blue eyes fixed on some imaginary point just past the larger man's shoulder. He tilted his head slightly towards the saloon. "You think they'll be all right?"

Buck looked pensively at the soft lights of the saloon that filtered out between the batwing doors and into the street. "I don't think they'll ever be all right," he said at last, "But I reckon they can do more for each other right now than either one of us can do for them."

Vin looked back to the saloon. He could just barely make out the two figures silhouetted in the doorway, still sitting on the floor, still clinging to each other. There was something harsh and painful about it that twisted at his insides. He hated to leave them like that. 

Buck sighed, and jammed his hat back on his head. He caught the look in the younger man's eyes and followed his gaze back to the couple outlined in the doorway, too silent and too still. Damn, but it actually hurt to look at them. He turned then and dropped one hand on the Vin's shoulder, turning the younger man back down the street towards the boarding house. He hadn't been planning on using it tonight, but he had a room there …and there was a bottle in the dresser drawer. 

"Come on, pard," Buck said quietly. "Leave 'em be."


End file.
